“Roses,” he said, “roses in June!”
Dorothy laughed outright. “Thanks for the compliment, Uncle Abe, but I’m afraid these roses came out of a compact.”
She hung her wet clothes over a chair, near to Bill’s.
“Den I should’a said, fresh as a rose,” the old darky chuckled.
“And not half as dewey as when you let us in,” added Bill. “By the way, Dorothy, let me introduce our host, Uncle Abe Lincoln River—known to the world at large as Ol’ Man River, but to his friends he’s Uncle Abe. And the young lady who is parading around in your clothes, Uncle, is Miss Dorothy Dixon of New Canaan, known to many people as I-will-not-be-called-Dot! She looks kind and gentle, but if you value your life, never take her on in a wrestling bout. She’s Sandow, the Terrible Greek and the Emperor of Japan all in one.”
Dorothy waved him aside.
“Get out of my way, slanderer!” she cried. “I want to shake hands with Uncle Abe. Dry clothes seem to have gone to his head, Uncle.”
The aged negro stood up and took her outstretched hand between his horny palms.
“Why, I’se read about yo’all when I worked fo’ Misteh Joyce, Missy. Dey uster let me hab de papers after de folks up dar ter de big house done finished wid ’em. Airplanes, robbers, ebbryt’ing!” Ol’ Man River shook his head. “Sho’ wuz tuk back some ter see what ladies kin do dese days, ma’am!”
“Well, then you must have read about Mr. Bolton, here, too? Bill Bolton, the flyer—?”